this wildly fun tradition
by zweebie
Summary: "What's Dad been doing to you?" Five asks. Klaus is silent. OR, Five confronts Klaus about the drugs, but he ends up learning more than he'd ever wanted to know.


It's Saturday after a particularly lousy physical training session. (Reginald had yelled at them all, gave them the usual "I'm training you to save the world when the time comes" speech, as if any of them actually take that bullshit seriously.) It's twelve-ten, and Five goes to Klaus's room.

Klaus is on the desk chair sideways, one leg draped over the arm of the chair like a towel hanging to dry. He's got his homework spread out across his desk and his thumb in his mouth. Ben, always the literate one, is on the inside corner of the bed, _Oliver Twist _propped on his knees.

"You look ridiculous," Five says to Klaus, who looks up slowly, like he doesn't think it worth the energy.

"Do I? I thought I looked," he looks down at himself, "rather dashing."

"Dashing like a wet towel," Five says.

"Aw, you make me blush," Klaus says, blowing a kiss. Five opts out of replying and instead sits squarely down in the corner, leaning against the bookshelf.

"Mark Twain," he says, looking over at Ben. "Is it any good?"

Ben shrugs. "I've read it fifty times." Makes sense. Reginald refuses to spend money, time, or effort on anything "_trivial_" or "_distracting from the fate of the world, which is what you children should be focusing your valuable energy on_." There is a library, but it's only supposed to be used for their studies, so it's full of classics.

If Diego was here, Five would comment on the shittiness of their situation, but instead he opts for a safer silence.

"Wilde is the only one in that room worth reading," Klaus says, rolling his head back and placing his pen between his teeth.

Five scoffs. "You've never read Wilde," he says. "I don't think you can read."

"Correction," Klaus says, raising a finger like he's giving a lecture, "I did deign to read Wilde, and only Wilde, out of the whole reading list. And it was magnificent."

"Why did you read Wilde?" asks Ben incredulously.

"Because I'm an educated soul. Besides, there's a picture of him on _The Portrait of Dorian Gray, _and he looks fantastic in a pair of tights. Even better than me."

How Klaus can get away with acting like this, especially under Reginald Hargreeves's prison-guard-like eye, Five can't imagine. Clearly, though, he's funny enough for Five to be in his room during their break.

It's break time—Saturday, from noon to half past noon. "Time for fun and games," as Reginald calls it. "Fucking freedom" is what Diego calls it. Whatever the name is, it's their only half-hour of complete and total free time all week (although try and leave the house, mess with the kitchen, or go into Reginald's study and you're toast). When they aren't talking together in the living room, the thirteen-year old kids usually spend it split into groups. Luther and Allison are always together, at the table, in one of their rooms, or off lollygagging in whatever corner pleases them. Ben is usually curled up on one of the cushioned living room chairs, reading Dickens, Austen if he's in a good mood. Klaus, if Reginald is holed up in his study (he almost always is) is standing behind the counter, experimenting with the drinks cabinet. It's only when things are bad that the two of them go to Klaus's room. Diego thinks that Luther is insufferable, that Klaus is an idiot, and that Vanya is below him, so he's usually in his room alone. Five thinks that this is arrogant as hell, but Diego is good company when Five's anger threatens to bubble over. When things are especially bad, Diego and Five sit somewhere no one can hear them and carve obscenities into the walls with Diego's knives. They come up with plans to steal Reginald's money and run off with the rest of the kids. They come up with plans to burn the house down.

But when Five's anger calms to a quiet simmer in the back of his head, he usually goes to Vanya's room. She puts down her violin and they do homework, or talk. But Vanya's practicing her violin today, so Klaus's room it is.

"You're an idiot," Five says to Klaus.

"Hey, speaking of, could you help me with this?" Klaus waves a hand at the papers scattered before him, and Five stands.

"Why didn't you ask me?" Ben says, offended, putting the book down.

"Because the problem just came up, and you seemed so engrossed in your not-Oscar-Wilde reading. Besides, Five's the best at math."

Ben rolls his eyes, not unkindly, and stands up, heading for the door.

"Where're you going? Tired of hanging out with your brothers already?" Klaus asks, tipping his chair back so he can see Ben in the hallway.

"I need some water," Ben says, and he's gone.

"So rude," Klaus says, shaking his head.

"Tell me the problem, you're wasting my time," Five says, leaning over the desk.

"Hey, you came in yourself." Klaus raises his hands in defense.

He's right, so Five doesn't answer. And even though it's a better use of his time to practice spatial leaps—he's counting down the days until he can travel through time—the banter is fun. It's why Five comes here. And Klaus is the most carefree of his siblings, which is a nice change of pace.

He snaps his fingers, and Klaus groans theatrically. "Fine. It's the quadratic. . .formula thingy. Me and algebra, we don't seem to get along."

"Shame."

"Yeah, it's a tragedy. I tried singing to it, but it just seemed to make it angry."

"Well, maybe if you were a better singer," Five says, to which Klaus gives an indignant huff. Five launches into a complicated dance of an explanation—skirting expertly around Klaus's interruptions—about factoring, the rules of exponents, and graphing. From Klaus's incredulous expression, he's not getting any of it, but Five almost doesn't mind. He loves math.

He stops dead, though, when he sees Klaus take a discarded receipt and a little baggie out of his pocket. "What the hell is this?' he asks, voice suddenly sharp as one of Diego's knives.

"Oh, oh, this thing? It's nothing, you don't-"

"This isn't a joke, Klaus," Five snaps, sliding the deconstructed joint away from Klaus. "You said this was a one time thing."

"And it was, it was, I mean, a two time thing." Klaus looks down, then has the nerve to look airily up at Five as he says, "three. A three time thing."

"_What?" _Five opens and shuts his mouth in disbelief.

"Don't worry, brother—" Klaus tries to punch him good-naturedly in the arm, but Five dodges, and Klaus pouts "—I've got it under control."

"That's bullshit," Five says. Klaus reaches slowly for the half-assembled joint, and Five grabs it off the table.

"Five, come one," Klaus whines. "This is none of your business. And I—I've got it under control."

"You said that already, and I said it was bullshit. You're gonna get addicted, Klaus, and then you'll really be in deep shit."

"But I'm not! I'm not addicted. I told you, this'll just be a three, four—" Five bangs his fist on the desk, and Klaus jumps "—hey! Okay, okay, just a three time thing, and then I'm done. I'm done."

"Yeah?" Five asks, and starts to crumple up the half-assembled joint, walking over to the trash can.

"No! No, no," Klaus cries, jumping out of his seat a little too fast.

"You said you weren't addicted?" Five opens his fist and lets the weed fall into the basket.

"Dammit!" Klaus kicks the chair leg and falls back into his chair. "Five, you prick!"

"You said you had this under control, Klaus! What the hell happened?" Klaus opens his mouth, but Five cuts him off. "Your hands are shaking!"

"I. . ." Klaus trails off.

"You don't even have an explanation?" Five turns and paces across the room, running his hands through his hair. "Shit!"

"Hey, hey. I told you, it's fine. Don't worry, I can stop, anytime."

"Bullshit. Do you know what this is gonna do to you on missions? You can't fight if you're high."

"Yeah, yeah, but I mean, come on. It's not like I can do much if I'm sober, either. I mean, my powers are pretty much useless. I'm always the lookout."

"Do you know what's gonna happen to us, then, when Dad finds out? He's not gonna give a shit that you've 'got it under control.' He'll be after all of our asses."

"Yeah," Klaus says, crumpling a little, "yeah. I'm—I'm sorry." Five feels a momentary twinge of guilt, but pushes it away. "I'm sorry, you're—you're right."

"Training starts in five minutes, and you better get there on time. And your ass better be sober."

"My ass will be sober, sir," Klaus says, doing a little salute.

Five rolls his eyes. "You seem to have gotten over your humility quickly," he snarls. He turns towards Klaus's bedroom door; he's got things to do before individual training.

Five isn't actually afraid of the blanket consequences Reginald would use if he found the weed, even if Klaus thinks that's why Five is so upset. It's more that he's just irritated.

Ben has to unleash a tentacled monster every week. Diego is locked in a water talk for hours. Five himself is forced to stretch the ability of his powers every day without ever being allowed to do what he really wants with them. It's ridiculous. Even Luther, who Five thinks is self-centered and arrogant a good amount of the time, has had the weight of leadership on his scrawny shoulders since he was born. Allison, maybe, is the exception, since she's always been comfortable with her power. But the rest of them are stretched thin every day.

And sure, the missions—being a hero, saving people's lives, being in the headlines—make it all worth it, but the truth is, they're all going through shit.

Except Klaus, really. He's never had cause to complain—while the rest of them are scheming, healing, crying, he's painting his nails, stealing from Grace's closet, dancing and singing through the halls. While the rest of them are toiling, chipping away at themselves to please a sociopathic old man, Klaus is talking to sweet old people. And now Klaus is the one breaking down and turning to drugs? It's bullshit.

Five says "bullshit" a lot, but to be fair, it describes a lot of his life.

And yeah, Five is afraid for Klaus's health. But he can't understand why it's Klaus that's turning to weed, especially before any of the rest of them do.

Klaus has always been weak.

It's Tuesday now, a few weeks later. Five hasn't actively sought out Klaus or gone to his room at recess since the day they argued, but he has jumped in and out several times while Klaus is out. He hasn't ever done more than check the drawers and under the mattress for weed, and he doesn't feel bad. Five has to do what he has to do to make sure he stops.

Five's always been good at detective work—it's easy to tell if Klaus is in, since they aren't allowed to shut their doors until curfew, and from there it's just a zip in and out. This is how he's gotten information all his life. Curiosity's been a weakness for him since he was little—once a question comes up, he needs to have it answered. It's inconvenient, but thanks to his ability he's learned things his brothers and siblings can't imagine. Stuff about this house. Their Dad's past. For example, the family mausoleum in their backyard must be filled with the bodies of strangers, not Reginald's deceased family members, because no one under the name of Hargreeves with any connection to their family had been born in a century at least. And even that one connection was flimsy. Reginald Hargreeves has no parents, no siblings, no grandparents in recorded history. Five doesn't pretend to understand what's going on with their "father," but he's still investigating, and he thinks he's on his way to getting it.

It's days later (during which Five can't find a lick of weed on Klaus, but during which Klaus still manages to consistently seem high) when, during individual training, Five requests a bathroom break from Pogo. Five isn't allowed to teleport within the house without supervision, and he isn't exactly clamoring to get back to training, so he walks. The long way back, through the backyard. It's there that he hears the pleading.

It's Klaus's voice, even though there's a moment where Five can't tell. Because he's never heard any of his siblings sound so desperate as Klaus does now. He's never heard that choked sob, that strangled _no, no, no._ He's definitely never heard Klaus say "please" before, not unironically. Not to their father. Because that's who the other voice is.

What the hell is going on?

Five creeps over to the door that leads outside and stands there for a moment. The voices don't stop.

"Please, not again!"

"I have told you before and I will tell you again, Number Four, that you must get rid of this ridiculous fear you have or you will never reach your full potential."

"I can do it! I can do it—without this!"

What the hell is this? Five teleports outside, behind a bush, and peers carefully through the leaves. His eyebrows knit together.

Their father has a hand on Klaus's back, walking him firmly towards the mausoleum in the backyard. Klaus is flailing like an idiot, grabbing at their dad's sleeves, making an honorable, if pathetic, attempt to dig his heels into the ground.

"Silence!" their dad shouts. Five can't look away. Their father drops Klaus roughly on the steps of the mausoleum and klaus scrambles immediately to his feet.

"Please, please. I'll do whatever—extra chores, extra training sessions. I swear I will—"

"Enough!" And then, to Five's shock, their dad grabs Klaus around the shoulders and pushes him firmly into the dark crypt. The second the door grinds shut, Klaus's terrified pleas are cut off.

Holy shit.

Reginald gives an irritated huff, brushes his hands off on his jacket, and turns to stride back—right in the direction of Five.

"Shit," Five mutters, and hesitates only a moment before teleporting to the upstairs bathroom. He scurries into the hall and peers over the railing, heart pounding in his ears. If their dad heard or saw him, it would be a day without meals in his room without meals or worse. Five can't take that inconvenience again.

But Reginald just walks through the kitchen door and straight over to the living room, not looking once up at Five. Five lets out a breath of relief and goes to walk down the stairs, back to training. He's not going straight, because he needs time to think.

Clearly this—what Five witnessed in the backyard—is a punishment for something, and it's not like it's difficult to imagine what Klaus might be in trouble for. But why put Klaus in the family mausoleum? The rest of the punishments the kids got are pretty standard—missing meals, extra chores, loss of their Saturday break. Five hadn't ever been locked in a crypt, and he knew his brothers and sister would have complained if they had been. And being locked in the family mausoleum seemed oddly specific, like being locked in the study, or being forced to only wear blue. It might be unpleasant, but there wasn't any reason for it. Unless—

Shit. Klaus's powers.

Five risks teleporting into Klaus's room after lights out, but Klaus isn't there. He doesn't dare ask Grace or Pogo where he is, so he just goes back to his own room to think.

Klaus has been getting extra training sessions. He's being locked in the mausoleum so that he can practice communicating with the people there. Five can dismiss Klaus's reaction—Klaus has always been lazy, and he's never cared about their work as much as the others.

Five is jealous, though, and again irritated. He's the one who's always strived for more, always pushed the limits of his power. Why is it that Klaus, who clearly doesn't care that much anyway, that gets the special work?

He's still burning the next morning, but Klaus isn't at breakfast. In fact, Five doesn't see him until that afternoon just before their training session, when Five materializes, leaning against the doorway of Klaus's room.

"Christ!" Klaus cries, spinning around, "on a cracker!" He knocks his glass of water off the desk in his surprise, and it topples off the table. "Aw, shit!" Miraculously the glass doesn't break, but Klaus's jacket, which was on the floor, is now soaked. "You asshole! I know you're like, Lockjaw, but would it kill you to knock?"

"What the hell is Lockjaw?"

"He's a teleporting—it doesn't matter," Klaus says, waving his hand in the air like a subject is a fly and he's trying to shoo it away. "What do you want?" He picks up the jacket and shakes it a little, nose wrinkling.

"I saw you. With Dad. Going to the mausoleum." Why Klaus? Why not someone else? What exactly is going on? It's not a huge thing, but Five needs answers.

"Oh," Klaus says, and his voice sounds fragile, light, like a feather made of glass, "yeah, um, that. That's nothing, you don't need to—"

"You think I don't know what's going on? You're getting extra training from Dad. You go into the mausoleum so you can talk to the ghosts there."

Klaus doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Yeah, that's—that's it."

"Did you ask specially? Or is Dad just making you do it? Because if there's a way that I can get extra training too—" It's the sort of unfinished sentence that demands an answer.

Klaus doesn't say anything. Then, "You can be a real prick sometimes, you know that?"

Five almost actually takes a step back. He hadn't been expecting this. "Excuse me?" he asks, and his voice has an edge that wasn't there before.

"I—I said it. You can be a real prick. You don't—you don't know what was going on in there." Klaus doesn't usually stutter like this. It's like the words are fish that Klaus can't quite get a hold of, but he's trying his best.

"Are you high?" Five snaps.

"Yes! Yes, I'm high, and you would be too if you were me!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Five would brush this off as more of Klaus's whining, but Klaus's eyes are glistening, and he can see now that there's eyeliner smudged around them, like he's been crying.

Klaus is already backing down, though. "No, no, it's nothing. I'm fine."

"No, this is ridiculous," Five snaps at him, "spit it out."

"It's nothing, it's—it's nothing." Klaus reaches for a joint on his desk and places it between his teeth, pulling a lighter from his pocket.

Five looks down at the joint and then up at Klaus's eyes. They're downcast. "Klaus, this is bullshit. Give me that."

"No," Klaus says, voice high, curling in on himself. "Can you just, can you just leave, please?"

"Klaus, you've got individual training after this—"

Klaus explodes before Five can finish. "Well, maybe that's why I'm doing it!"

"What?" snaps incredulously.

"You think I like it? You think I like my training?"

"I—" Five says, but his defense is failing.

"Do you think I like having Polly, or Jeffrey, or, or, or Amelie in my room at night, screaming at me that I should help them, that I should show them their son, that I deserve to be in her place? Do you think I fucking like it?"

"Klaus," Five says, and his voice is soft, but Klaus doesn't stop.

"I get that your, your powers are amazing, and wonderful, and that you're the poster boy for, whatever, the new generation, but I don't—I don't have that, okay? I mean, my power's pretty much useless. I don't have that, and I. . ." Klaus sits back, and when he looks up Five sees tears. "Just go, please?" Klaus whines.

It's silent for a long moment, and things start to click into place. "What's Dad been doing to you?"

Klaus's head doesn't even rise; he just hangs the jacket over the back of his chair.

"Bullshit," Five says. "I saw you being pushed into the mausoleum, and I saw you fighting back like an angry kitten. You just said you hate your powers, so spit it out. What's going on with the mausoleum?"

Klaus sighs, opens his mouth and shuts it. Five is impatient, but he bites his tongue.

"Dad and I," Klaus says slowly, then speeding up, like the words have been bottled up for ages, "have this wildly fun tradition where he locks me in a mausoleum with ghosts for a few hours, and then I lock myself in my bedroom to get high out of my mind."

Five thinks through everything he's seen. Klaus emerging from his room, bags under his eyes, voice hoarse. Their Dad telling them that Klaus is missing meals because he's sick, because he's being punished. How weak Five—all of them, Allison, Luther, Diego—had thought Klaus. "_When is he gonna start taking things seriously?" "I mean, he's funny and all, but he's fucking annoying sometimes." _Five thinks of all this, and then he thinks of Klaus's face as he says "_Do you think I fucking like it?"_

"You hate it. The mausoleum," Five says.

"No, no, I told you. It's a roaring good time. It's just they all think I can give them something, I don't know, more life, or more time. And I can't do that, and they hate me for it. For people that can't touch you, they can hurt you pretty bad." There are tears in Klaus's eyes, and his voice is stretched near breaking.

"How often?" Five asks, and the venom has returned to his voice.

"Every few months," Klaus says quietly, not looking him in the eye.

Five thinks of the way their dad treats them all, like they're experiments instead of kids.

He can believe it.

Their father had gone far enough. If Five looks closely, he's mad at himself, too, at all of them, for ignoring Klaus's suffering for so long. Because even though Five didn't quite understand Klaus's hatred of his powers, he understands that their father was using them to torture Klaus. He understands that in a way, Klaus is going through more than the rest of them are. He understands that Reginald had gone too far.

Five's gonna kill him.

Five clenches his fists, willings himself to jump into the study. His power surges, fists glowing blue—

And then it fizzles out. "Shit," Five growls, and turns and rushes into the hallway.

"Five?" he hears Klaus cry, and then he can hear him following him down the hall. "Five!" Five continues, almost running up the stairs. "Five, where are you going? Dammit!"

Five runs straight up to the study door and pushes against it with both hands. It doesn't budge. He rattles the doorknob, but it holds fast. Frustrated, Five yells through gritted teeth.

Klaus swings wildly around the corner, stumbling to a stop. "Five," he says, panting more than he should be, "what in glory's name are you doing?"

"I'm gonna kill him," Five says. He doesn't need to say who _him _is.

"No, no, no," Klaus says, eyes wide, "no, I told you, it's fine, I'm fine, it's a jolly good time. Father-son bonding, I love it."

"That's bullshit, and what he's done to all of us is too. If I'm not gonna kill him, then I'm gonna go in there break his kneecaps, and then get us all out of here."

"Five, you can't—" Klaus touches Five's shoulder but Five pushes him away roughly. "You can't, you know you can't. And I'm fine, I'm fine, look at me," he says, jazz hands and all, "I am having the best time."

"Someone needs to call him out for this."

"But you don't want to do that. Trust me, you don't want to do that."

"Trust you—" Five's question is broken off by the shrill alarm cutting through air. "Dammit," he says, looking up as the study doors swing open. He and Klaus only have a moment to jump out of the way before Sir Reginald Hargreeves strides out.

He doesn't look down at them as he says, "Time is valuable, Number Four and Number Five. Stop wasting it. I expect you changed and downstairs in ten minutes."

"You—" Five says, darting forward, but Klaus grabs his wrist. Five turns.

"Don't," Klaus mouths. And for the first time, Five understands the genuine, helpless fear in Klaus's eyes. For the first time, he understands why Klaus needs the drugs. For the first time, Five understands that maybe their brother isn't as weak as they all think he is.

Five grits his teeth. "Fine," he says, "but as soon as we turn eighteen, we're getting out of here."


End file.
